#it's just... i think about the glow in the dark star anon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bamboozledbird · 3 months ago

Text

Written in the Stars // Stiles Stilinski Imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader Pairing: Stiles x Reader, Stiles x You (no use of y/n) Word Count: 5k Tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, i love my men nerdy and desperate, all characters are over 19, my vibe is it's like their sophomore or junior year of college Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, unprotected pnv (terrible advice, babes, don't listen to these idiots)

Request: stiles smut plssss!!! anything fluffy??? A/N: request mixed with a lil bit of an old work to ease me into my first smut. still coming across virginities at 27, and that is really something. s/o to the anon who requested it lmao.

Stiles’s childhood bedroom is an assortment of Star Wars paraphernalia, baseball posters, and bundles of wrinkled flannels squeezed to fit within four faded blue walls. There are a few books stacked on top of his desk, coated in a thin layer of dust from the semester away from home, and little plastic stormtroopers stand at attention on his dresser corners. It smells a little musty in his room, a little like damp earth, but you’ve always liked that smell. You especially like how his cologne smells here—like spice, like fallen leaves, like Christmas morning.

“The curtains are blackout,” Stiles says. He pulls the heavy navy curtains over the window facing the small backyard. The grass is yellowing from the cold of winter, and the air is crisp with the same bitter chill. You shiver and burrow further into the sweatshirt you’d somehow commandeered long before you and Stiles were a we. A few flecks of dust float off the plaid bedding when he sits down on his bed. He looks up at you and grins at the sleeves hanging limply below your fingers, “Flip off the light.”

You turn off the light and shut the door. It’s dark inside the room now—almost completely black. What little remains of the sun is gone, and now you can only see the glow-in-the-dark stars sticky-tacked to the ceiling. “You must have taken a lot of people up here,” you hum, grinning at him coyly over your shoulder. You’re not quite sure if he can make out the glint in your eyes under the pale fluorescent glow, but you’d like to think he can. Either way, you’re sure he knows.

Stiles laughs easily and scoots himself down to the edge of his bed, “Why?”

“For kissing,” you say, matter-of-factly, but you’re still grinning. You make your way towards him, and your prowl is far less smooth than you’d like it to be—the piles of books and a couple month’s worth of dirty laundry make an already difficult path downright hazardous. You count it as a win when you end up in his lap without tripping on anything, “Doesn’t everyone want to be kissed under the stars?”

His hands, his wonderfully large and veiny hands, find their way to your hips. It’s instinct for him, reflexive at this point, and here in the dark it feels like the only thing he knows. You can feel his grin against your neck, “Do you?”

You hum, playing coy, and absently curl your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, thick and curling a bit at the ends. It’s grown out over the last few months. He’s been too busy with studying for finals and working at the library to bother getting it cut. You like it like this, long enough to hold onto, long enough to yank. “I like the stars,” you sigh—so close to his mouth, but not touching—and then you pull back, smiling fondly when you see his mouth is already puckered. “Tell me about ‘em.”

Stiles groans and falls onto his back, pulling you down with him. You end up tucked against his side, shivering as he slides his hand under your sweatshirt to trace a feathery line up and down your back. “That’s like the worst possible genre for innuendo. I can’t woo you while I’m David Attenborough-ing about astrology.”

You smile against his shoulder, and he yelps when you nip at his skin through his thread-bare t-shirt. “You like a challenge.”

He wraps a strand of your hair around his finger and pulls a little, just hard enough to tip into a reprimand. It’s at least half the reason you turn into a brat when he’s this close. “There’s Andromeda,” he hums against the top of your head, pointing towards a small cluster of stars. “Those are supposed to be her legs, and that’s her head, and the ones over there are her arms—fuckin’ uneven, I know. I think that side kinda looks like she’s holding out one of those canes with tennis balls on t—”

You smile and knock your head into his chin lightly, “Wooing, Stiles.”

He tugs on your hair again and swears under his breath when a little whimper tumbles past your lips. “Anyway, she’s next to Perseus—who looks a lot more like Patrick than a demigod. I mean, look at him; his body type is like…something between Dorito and spanakopita.” You laugh, and Stiles squeezes you closer to his side, tangles your legs together, and kisses the tip of your nose like he just can’t help himself. “Story goes, Andromeda's mom royally pissed off Poseidon, so he sent a sea monster to destroy her kingdom—as one does when someone’s talking shit.”

“Naturally,” you hum as you reach for the hand he has cupped around your waist.

“Naturally,” Stiles agrees, nodding against the crown of your head. You try not to get too distracted by the length of his fingers, bending them and straightening them out one at a time, as he carries on with the story, “So Andromeda’s mom is up there with the titans of bad parents—like right next to Vader and every Disney step-mom ‘cause she fuckin’ ties Andromeda to a rock as a sacrifice for the mo—” He sucks in a shallow breath through his teeth when you start kissing along the row of his knuckles, first little soft brushes that almost tickle and then a few lingering ones that wet his skin. He swears again and ever-so slowly shifts his hips against the thigh tucked between his legs. You take pity on him and rest your entwined hands in the small gap between your breastbone and his ribs. His exhale is warm against your forehead, “Obviously, Perseus swoops in at the last minute, slays the beast, gets the girl, etcetera, etcetera.”

Humming, you tip your chin up against his chest and look at him through your lashes, “What happens during etcetera, etcetera?”

“I think,” Stiles rolls over so that he’s on top of you, bracing his weight on his forearms, caging you in delightfully close to his broad chest, “something like this.”

You forget about the game for a minute when he starts mouthing at your skin with just the right amount of teeth. His hair, adorably messy and sticking up in little patches from your fingers, tickles the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t Perseus kill Medusa?” you mumble, head tipping back into the mattress, eyes closed.

“Uh,” Stiles keeps kissing along your neck, obviously distracted by the hitches in your breath and the soft sighs you let out when he breathes against spit-slick skin, “yeah?”

You can feel the heaviness of his whine against your mouth when you pull away, blinking up at him with big, round eyes—the picture of innocence. A little lamb, an unplucked daisy, a gossamer butterfly wing, entirely unaware of the raging hard-on pressed against your inner thigh. His skin is warm through his shirt, so warm you feel it on your legs when you wrap them around his waist. “While she was sleeping?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles slides a hand up your thigh. The other one is pressed into the mattress, and the muscles in his forearm flex under his full weight. You’re pretty sure he’d agree with anything you say like this.

Unfortunately for the pulsing between your legs, you’ve fallen victim to your own ruse. Your head tilts as you recall all the unsavory details of the Medusa myth, “After she was literally assaulted by his dad?”

Stiles drops his head against your chest and groans, “You’re killing me, baby.”

You grin and curl your fingers in his hair, petting him gently and squeezing your thighs against his hips, “Tell me another one.”

He sighs and rolls over, starfishing his right arm and leg over the edge of the bed with a dramatic flop. “We’ll skip Orion and the seven girls he stalked.”

“Smart choice,” you hum and snuggle into his side. His chest is firm from hours of trying to lift enough to play lacrosse with werewolves, but it still makes for a nice pillow. Stiles’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you swallow back the purr rising in your throat for his sake. He’s been so good for you, after all. You don’t want the torture to be too painful.

“And the swan-fucker,” he adds, scratching lightly at your scalp.

“What?”

Stiles ignores your wide eyes, smirking, and continues playing with your hair, “Altair and Vega. That’s a good one.” In the blanket of darkness and under the strain of yearning, his voice sounds soft and crackly, like one of those singers in the black and white movies, the ones that dance with the microphone. “Starts with a gorgeous, sexy, incredibly charitable goddess falling for a lowly mortal,” his grin is sly as he hikes your thigh over his, squeezing just under your ass, “a lot like us.”

“Boo. Awful.” You pull a face as he drops a flurry of kisses over your cheeks, nose, chin—your laughing mouth, “Disgusting. I’m disgusted.”

His fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings, tauntingly close to just where you want him, “You don’t feel disgusted.”

Now, that won’t do. You’re just getting started. You trap his hand with your thighs and tap your finger against the slope of his upturned nose, “Finish the story.”

Stiles whines a little and then sighs, returning the palm of his hand to the little dip above your hip. “Her dad is disgusted that she wants to bring a loser human home, so he turns them into stars on opposite sides of the galaxy.”

Frowning, you squint at the collection of stars he’d pointed to. They don’t look so far apart on his bedroom ceiling. “That’s…depressing.”

“It’s not over yet,” Stiles pulls on your hair and does his best to look annoyed, but the nip to your bottom lip feels far more like a reward than a punishment, “hush.” He waits a minute for you to comply—or, more likely, not comply—and you settle back on his chest and arch your brow, waiting. He arches his brow right back and then keeps going, “One day a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, Altair fills the galaxy with his tears, and every bird in the sky makes a bridge with their wings so that they can spend one more night together.”

The corner of your mouth tugs into a little grin, “That is a good one.” You trace little patterns on his bicep, little swirls and stars, and rest your chin on his shoulder so that you can see his pretty face, “But just for the story. Only one night a year would kill me.”

“Baby,” Stiles clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and shakes his head like he's disappointed, bottom lip jutting out slightly from under his top, “it'd take a helluva lot more than a couple light-years and an immortal father-in-law to keep me from getting to you.”

It’s such a line, but the dopey grin he gives you while he says it somehow makes it charming. Maybe you’re just a little bit lovesick. Okay, maybe a lot. “You can kiss me n—”

He’s on you before you can finish, but you don’t mind being interrupted when he's slanting his mouth against yours just right and groaning into your sighs with a gravelly pitch that makes your toes curl. “Fuck me,” Stiles sighs. He dips back in before you can quip something bratty, something that would definitely earn you another yank on your hair—later perhaps.

You straddle his waist, sit back in the cradle of his pelvis, and lace your fingers together on the mattress against the sides of his head. He whimpers. You curse. “Off,” you mutter against his mouth, tugging petulantly on the hem of his t-shirt. Stiles is quick to comply, like always, but the fabric gets stuck around his shoulders. You let him struggle for a minute, just long enough to hear more of those petulant little whines. When you finally help him wrangle his shirt over his head, you’re up close and personal with his mouth. His lips are pretty—swollen, pink, and shiny with salvia and your lip balm—and you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to bite. You toss his shirt somewhere on the floor behind you and lean down, your chest pressed against his. You can feel his heartbeat stutter, like a rabbit in a trap, when you stroke your thumb over his bottom lip. It’s soft and wet against your finger, and you sigh high in your throat, “Pretty.”

His chest warms, and you wish you had more light to admire the flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks. You know it’s pink and pretty too, but you’d enjoy seeing the proof. “Pretty?” Stiles echoes, cocking his head slightly, and slides his hands from your ass to your hips. He continues his path along the sides of your ribcage with the bottom of your sweatshirt bunched between his fingers.

“Pretty,” you nod, sharp and definitive. You sit up a little so that Stiles can pull your hoodie off, and then it’s lost to the dark abyss. Frankly, you aren’t that worried about if you ever see it again. You can always steal another one after you’re done.

He shakes his head and runs his hands over your torso, your collarbones, your stomach, just under your tits—he can’t see that well in the dim light, so he’s damn well going to see you the only way he can. “Pretty,” Stiles groans, cupping your tits and gently thumbing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your cotton bra. It’s simple, white, unadorned by lace or a pattern—and it’s sexier than it has any right to be, he thinks. He’s eager to rip it off.

You shudder through the entire length of your spinal column, through all the nerves attached, and arch into his touch, “Yeah?”

He coos, and your nipples pebble in response. It’s embarrassing but soon forgotten when Stiles cups your face, big hands encompassing almost the entire length of your jaw, and whispers, “Pretty girl. My pretty baby.”

It’s even more embarrassing how quickly you feel your underwear dampen under the scrutiny of some simple praise. Now, you’re whining, and he’s letting out a string of guttural, “Fuck,”s as you grind down against the increasingly painful bulge in his jeans. Your nails leave little pink lines along the sculpted v of his pelvis, just deep enough to sting a bit—enough to send his head back towards his shoulders. He sits up a little more so that he can grip your hips, holding them still as he catches his breath, and you’re only a little ashamed of the way you mewl his name in protest. Stiles shuts you up with a kiss and shakes his head, “Can’t come in my pants like I’m 17 again. That’s the worst possible ending to our constellation. Like a 1/10, definitely certified rotten.”

You grin against his throat, and he swallows at the sharp press of your teeth. “Oh, I don’t think that’s the worst ending. Wouldn’t the worst be the one where you don’t come at all?”

Stiles’s fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you down firmly against his lap, like he’s scared you’ll get up and leave him with a weeping cock and teary eyes. “Baby, don’t even joke about that. That’s a billion times worse than letting a sea monster rip me in half.”

“Guess you can split me in half then,” you shrug a little, and Stiles goes taut under you, fingertips flexing into the small of your back, “unless you want me to tie you to a rock. I’d be into that.”

He growls in your ear, nipping at your jaw and flipping you onto your back. You laugh, a little breathless, as you bounce back on the mattress from the force of it. “Definitely wanna split you in half,” Stiles mutters as he shucks off his pants and kneels at the edge of his bed. He starts peeling back your leggings, taking his time to kiss each sliver of skin revealed to him despite the urgency in his eyes, despite the ache in his white-knuckled grip on the buttery martial of your bottoms. “Gonna wreck you,” Stiles promises as he brushes his lips over your ankle a few times. His words are filthy, but his eyes are honey-sweet and lit with nothing but complete and utter devotion—like you really are a goddess in the sky. You’re already wrecked, probably have been since he kissed you for the first time, entirely ruined for anyone else.

“Did’ya know that Vega is brighter than Altair,” he says, quiet and reverent as he drops your leggings. You blink at him, a bit dumbly, but it’s his own fault for trying to have a conversation while he’s sliding your legs over his shoulders and fiddling with the hem of your underwear. “By, like, 5 places? I think? That’s us too��can’t even look at you sometimes,” he hums, warm against your wet cunt, and hooks his thumbs around your panties. You shudder, and he smiles. You aren’t quite sure if he’s talking to you or to the glistening flesh he reveals when he yanks the baby pink cotton to the side. Either way, you understand his dilemma. It’s torture to watch him sometimes. You have to close your eyes when the pink tip of his tongue darts out, wetting his lip, tasting the air.

There’s a sigh. So soft. Really more of an exhale, and you aren’t sure where it came from. It could’ve been you, or him, or the stars. “You talk a lot,” this time you know the sigh is coming from you.

Stiles smirks a little and slips his thumb inside your panties, swiping through your slick folds like he’s fingerpainting, “Is that a complaint?”

Your hips stutter, and his other hand is quick to clamp down on your skin, stopping any attempts to skitter away from his light touch. “I love it when you talk,” you hum, leaning up onto your elbows so that you can watch him work. He grins up at you, almost shy, and presses down against your clit. A wet gasp bursts through swollen lips as your back arches, and Stiles isn’t so shy when he bends down to drop a gentle kiss over his thumb. “But I, uh,” you brush your fingers through the dark hair flopping over his forehead and squeeze your eyes shut when his kisses become kitten licks, “I also love it when you use your mo—” His finger (his long, gifted finger) slides into your cunt with an embarrassing squelch, and his lips wrap around your clit as he sucks. “That,” you whine, back arching a little until Stiles spreads his fingers over your stomach and presses down, “I also love it when you do that.”

His laugh vibrates deliciously against all the places he’s trying to devour, and you think it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go—being eaten alive by your gorgeous boyfriend. He pulls back to slip another finger in your pussy, spreading them just enough to burn in the best way, and then he’s prodding at the spot inside you that sends a jolt up your spine—makes your fingers wind in the bedspread, pull on his hair, fly to your mouth when you start to cry a little. It didn’t used to be like this. Sex. Getting fingered, fucked, even eaten out—it never felt like this before him. It’s…overwhelming, sometimes. Most of the time, actually. You keep waiting to get used to it, for the newness, the discovery of it all, to wear off. Hasn’t happened yet. You don’t think it ever will. Certainly not tonight.

“Good?” Stiles licks his lips, at the glistening corners of his mouth, and you toss your head back—overwhelmed. “Good,” he concludes, and he’s not even smug about it. More like he’s making a note in one of his case files, something to look back on later when he needs it. He’s quick about getting what little remains of your clothes off, and when he crawls on top of you, you’re immensely grateful for it. Skin on skin, nothing quite like it. Quick romps in the jeep, up against alley walls, the sink of the occasional bar bathroom—all fun, but not nearly as satisfying as being completely pressed against his naked body, completely caged in by his large frame. Sappy, maybe, but it feels dirty when he drags the tip of his cock through your folds. When he bumps against your clit, you mewl and dig your nails into his back. He sucks in sharply and buries his face in the crook of your neck, “There’s a condom in th—”

“Forget it,” you whimper, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s a little sweaty where it meets his neck, and it’s so soft, and thick, and perfect, and—he’s stopped breathing against your neck.

He groans from a place deep in his gut, deeper actually, and his arms shake, “Are you su—”

“Yes,” you nod rapidly and wrap your legs around him, arms too, and your fingers join in on the clinging when they twist in his hair. “Absolutely. 1000%. Please don’t make me say please.”

He lets out a little laugh that stirs the hair framing your face, and he traces your cheekbone, barely touching your skin. Your head swims with the look in his eyes: amber, warmth, and worship, “But you’re just so pretty when you beg.” Not that you’ve ever had to for long. Stiles gives you anything you want if you ask him the right way. If you look at him with big, wet eyes, if you jut out your lower lip just so—wet as well, the little lick of your tongue is part of it; that took him months to figure out—he crumbles. He’s said many times that better men than he have fallen victim to far less beautiful schemes.

Stiles kisses the pout off your lips and nudges the tip of his nose over yours, grinning like a drunken idiot, “Told’ya, baby. Not a light-year, definitely not a little latex.” His grin slides into a little ‘o’ when you slither your hand between your bodies and grip his cock, sliding the first inch into your cunt, impatient. “F-fuck—fuck-ing hell,” he grunts and takes over for you, squeezing your hip until it starts to hurt a little. You’d say something, but then he’d stop—and you like the way it aches. You like knowing there will be a bruise. He’ll fret over it later, kiss each mottled spot better a million times, and you like that too. You like being taken care of, almost as much as he likes taking care of you.

When he bottoms out, when his pelvic bone ruts up against you, a long, drawn out whimper spills through your pout. “Yeah? Feels good, baby?” Stiles watches your face closely, brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead, and drops a few kisses on your shut eyelids. You nod, and nod, and nod, until he stops you with another kiss to your lips. He kisses you slowly, presses his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you sigh. The kiss quickly becomes wet and filthy, and you’d be embarrassed by the sound of your tongues sliding together if you could actually hear it. At the moment, all you can hear is his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy—and that’s definitely sending a dizzying heat up your neck. You don’t worry about it for long when his hips shift and he starts hitting that spot inside you again. After that, neither of you can hear anything over your squealing. Stiles kisses away the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes and licks his lips, chasing the taste. “Right there, huh?” You babble an incoherent answer, and he strokes your hair and noses at your cheek, “Yeah, right there. I know. It’s okay.”

Stiles slides his hands under your back and sits up, taking you with him. The new angle is impossibly deep, and you bite down on his shoulder and wind your arms around his neck to keep yourself there. With him. In the moment. “It’s okay, baby. I got you, promise,” he squeezes your hips, and despite his reassurances and the strength of his grip, you know he’s falling apart too. He’s close. You can feel it. His hips stutter a little, change direction, lose their dedicated pace—and it’s perfect because you’re right there with him. It’s been building for a while, probably since he led you by hand to his room, maybe even before that when he smirked at you behind his cup of tequila and (mostly) pineapple juice.

You cry a little and bite down on your bottom lip, hard. Stiles kisses the sting away, and your eyes screw shut as you start babbling again, “I’m—”

He kisses you again and lifts his hands from your hips to cup your face, thumbing along your bottom lip when he pulls back—not far, just enough to look at your face, shiny with sweat and tears. “I know,” he stills for a moment, pausing the movement of his hips so that he can just feel you pulsing around him for a moment, “me too.” You aren’t sure if you want to hit him or kiss him for stopping, but you don’t have the strength to do either when he starts what must be his final round of thrusts. It has to be—you’re a few seconds away from collapsing or coming, whichever comes first. When Stiles moans your name in your ear, soft and high like he does when he’s right there, and he slides his hand down your stomach to rub firm circles on your clit, you’re happy it’s your orgasm that happens first. Your abs convulse a little as you twitch around him, and you curl in on yourself as much as you can with Stiles in the way. He’s not in the way for long. Growling, he shoves you back against the bed and mumbles, “Where?” after a few sloppy thrusts.

You mewl as he keeps the pressure on your clit, reach for his wrist and try to pull his hand away, but he’s determined and you’re tired. You twitch and throw your head back, whimpering, “Inside,” before you can think better of it. It’s his fault, you’ll decide later, for prolonging your high with his mean, unforgiving, wonderful thumb.

He’ll blame you, for feeling so perfect around him—for fluttering, and leaking, and trembling better than…anything he’s ever seen in porn, and he’s watched...a lot of it, so he’s a bit of an expert on the cinematic orgasm. “You’re so fuckin—you,” he shakes his head against your heaving chest and groans, “you’re everything.” And when he finally comes in you, you’re okay with taking the blame for something that feels so good. He manages a few more thrusts, and then he finally lets you pull his hand away from your cunt when he collapses onto his forearms, barely holding himself up from crushing you with his full weight. You’d tell him to roll over, but then he’d be over there and not in you, so you put up with the sweat and heaviness while your head spins.

“Baby?” Stiles hums noncommittally in response to your soft prodding, and you smirk against the top of his head. All the smugness leaves you when you finally feel the foreign sensation of his cum leaking out of you. Shuddering, you kiss his hair a few times and scratch up and down his back lightly until he’s able to breathe normally. He pushes himself up onto his arms and glances down when he pulls out, staring for a moment at the way your pussy gapes a bit, watching the trickle of cum drip down your folds and onto the bed. He rubs his hand over his jaw and licks his lips, shaking his head—at a loss for words for the first time in his life. Your tongue is a little thick when you fill the void for him, “Next time, towel first.”

He finds it within himself to tear his eyes away from your cunt and gives you a crooked little grin, “Next time?”

You roll your eyes, but your grin is stupid with affection, “Sure, next time. Maybe. If you’re good.”

It’s a little disgusting, the way he just rolls over and pulls you on top of him with absolutely no regard for the various bodily fluids sticking to your skin, but you forget about the unpleasantness of drying cum and cooling sweat when he kisses you. “I’m always good,” he huffs against your cheek. You shoot him a look, brows arched and eyes narrowed, and he smirks, “Okay, maybe not, but I’m always good for you.”

You nuzzle in a little closer and scoff, but it’s true. Stiles is so good, always—especially for you. “I guess you did manage to woo me. You’re very sexy when you’re talkin’ astrology, you know that?”

He smiles, wide and happy, and wiggles his brows, “An absolute banger of an ending, right? I don’t think they could chart it in the stars without ruining your pretty face, but that’s probably for the best.” Stiles brushes his fingers over your lips when you let out a little questioning hum and takes your hand, growling playfully as he nibbles at your fingertips, “You’re mine. Nobody’s allowed to see you like this but me—definitely not horny little nerds with their telescopes.”

You grin and bump your nose against his, “You’re a horny little nerd with a telescope.”

Stiles tips his head with a sly grin, and you already know what he’s going to say—it’s still devastatingly adorable when he whispers, “No, I’m your horny little nerd with a telescope.”

Adorable enough to make you consider pulling him into the shower with you, and if the heavy-lidded look he’s giving you is anything to go by, you’d say he agrees.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi smut #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #dylan o'brien imagine #stiles stilinski fic #teen wolf fanfiction

456 notes · View notes

toruro · 1 year ago

Text

— ✧ devil by the window

temptation touched my tongue / spread the wings of desire (a friday the 13th special)

description: all your fairy friends warned you not to get tangled up with the demons that lurk on the ground, but you swear on every star in the sky that minghao is different.

warnings: smut (18+), consent is clear but reader is somewhat unaware of what sex is

tags: enchanted forest au, demon hao, fairy reader, corruption kink, loss of virginity, innocence kink, pet names (fairy, pretty), condescension, brief implied exhibitionism

w/c: 5k+

request: hiii for hao could u write fairytailesque theme umm like vibes of love between fairy and devil cdrama! mean dom hao secretly a softie for u<33 i feel like u would rock it!!

a/n: i got something out for friday the 13th! sorry to anon for losing the og ask, hope u see this! for those who saw the first version of this, i am sorry. i popped this out by listening to freefall while being high as hell

Joshua was the first to warn you about those who live below. Those who lurk in the shadows, waiting, and waiting, and waiting to pounce on the first naive soul to cross their path.

You didn’t quite believe him at first. Your head was in the pristine clouds that float above; living your little fairy life among the heights of the forest, days spent buzzing around with your friends, glowing smiles and shining eyes, petal-cloth dress flowing over your soft skin as you flutter from tree to tree—your life was perfect.

Seokmin tells you about it next. He recites a story of one of his friends, Chan, who got a little too close to the ground. The young boy hardly escaped the luring hands of a demon who crept up on him, and to this day, Chan has a scar on his left ankle.

Maybe catching sight of the little mark on the other fairy’s skin the next time you saw Chan was a little bit of a reality check, but still, you don’t worry too much.

After all, how could you? Your life was perfect, so what need was there for all this tension? All this trouble, worrying about a world so, so far away …

⟢

You’re falling.

You’re falling unimaginably fast.

You’re not really sure how it happened—you were floating through the trees and something in your magic spasmed for a second and the next thing you know you’re flailing around, unable to get those sparks flying again.

And you try to yell for help, call for Seokmin because he’s the last one you’d seen, a cold rush overwhelming your body when you realize you’re too far down for him to hear you anyways. You close your eyes tight and brace for the impact as you feel the bases of the trees grow thicker as you near the ground and then—

Wait, what? Why didn’t you hit the ground and—oh, you’re floating again. Reflexes must’ve kicked in upon realizing the difference in air pressure.

It takes a few moments to get yourself back on balance using what little energy you’ve got left. You’re dangerously close to the ground—mere meters hovering above it, really, but right as you think you’ve managed to flutter up a bit higher, you lose control again, dropping straight down with no luck on your side to stop you.

You crash down into the ground, letting out a soft shriek as your body thuds. It shakes you for a moment but as you look around, you’re endlessly grateful to have fallen on a relatively soft patch of grass. Dusting yourself off as you try to sit up straight, the fact that you are now on the ground without your magic is dawning on you.

You aren’t sure how long you sit there, just gazing at the thick, dark trees around you. It’s rather peaceful, you wonder if you landed on the same grounds that Chan did when he got that scar. You doubt it.

You gaze up at the sight, soft breaths and gentle eyes, and you start to think that the ground is much nicer than anyone has ever told you but suddenly, there’s a rustling in the bushes behind you. In an instant you feel cold.

Dreadfully cold.

So cold, you don’t dare to turn around, figure cowering in on itself as you shut your eyes tight when the rustling intensifies, turning into thudding footsteps that approach you. And then, it stops, and you believe for a gracing second if the thing has left you alone, but you know better than that because after just five seconds of silence, you hear it breathing from above.

“Wh—who are?” you murk up the courage to whimper, wincing as you hold a hand up to face your face.

Through the fingers, you catch the silhouette of a man. He doesn’t look much different from all the other boys you’ve seen before, and you wonder if you should take your chances and let your hands drop.

“Are you …” Your breath hitches in when you finally look at him—chiseled jawline and sharp, cold eyes that watch you carefully. You feel your palms sink into the ground as you try to scurry back, but suddenly, it feels as though your hands can’t move. “... a demon?”

The pretty man smiles, but some funny feeling in your stomach tells you he isn’t exactly happy. He smiles oddly, and then he chuckles. He chuckles oddly, and then he laughs.

“What do you think, fairy?” His voice is cool and crisp, cutting through you like a blade of ice. The chill is thrilling. You think back to the story Seokmin always tells you. The scar on Chan’s ankle. The words of caution Joshua is always careful to remind you of.

“Y-you don’t look l-like the other—” You stop yourself from speaking because the shake in your voice is too much. You never even knew you could produce such a sound so potent in … fear? Enthrallment? Heat? You aren’t sure.

“The other what?” Slowly, he inches forward, and still you can’t find it in you to move away. You’re starting to think that you simply don’t want to.

His long, black hair wisps over his forehead and a few strands sit above his nose, and you can’t help but admire his natural elegance. He’s standing right next to you now, and as you look up at him, something in the back of your head buzzes.

Your ears are flooded with a white noise and some part of your brain is telling you you should be scared. You should be terrified, and you should wail for Joshua or Seokmin or Mingyu to come help but a much more convincing part of your brain tells you to stay put. To look up at this demon with wide eyes and parted lips. To whisper, “Demons. The other demons.”

He crouches over you now, so close that you feel his warm breath on your forehead. “Have you ever seen a demon?” You shake your head no, too afraid of the sound your throat might make if you try to speak.

He grins, and this time you don’t question the sincerity. He holds out a hand, and you think to yourself that such beautiful fingers could never taint skin like Chan’s.

“Let me show you,” he murmurs into the hazy air.

You don’t hesitate to take his hand.

Your magic comes back by the end of that day, and you are able to flutter your way up with Minghao’s name and a bidding farewell on your tongue.

You don’t tell the other fairies about what you do at night now. You don’t tell the other fairies how after everyone’s settled into their little abodes that linger from the branches, you creep out of your own. You don’t tell the other fairies about the beautiful views you see as you wisp through the trees, catching cool leaves on your skin as you slowly start to flutter down.

You don’t tell the other fairies of the little, illuminated pond you dip your toes into, or how when you turn around as your feet plant into the soil, Xu Minghao is already slipping into your line of vision from behind a thick trunk.

Dark cloth hangs off his chiseled figure, loose ends flowing with the night zephyrs. He sits on a rock by the pond as you cross your legs over on the verdant green grass, light dress splaying thinly over your thighs, skin shimmering under the moonlight.

He talks to you, tells you about his life, his friends. Every night, you listen with your lips slightly parted as you watch him and his dark hair. He teaches you about the ground, about the soft soil you sit upon, he teaches you about the roots of trees, about the little animals that scurry by the trunks, he teaches you that there is so much that lies beneath the tree tops, that there is so much you still don’t know.

Seungcheol laughed at Minghao earlier when he crept away from where he and his friends usually spend the night. “Going off to see your little fairy?” (Minghao wonders if the weird feeling in his stomach erupts from embarrassment at Seungcheol’s tone, or from a growing warmth when he refers to you as his.)

His friends find it a little funny—a fairy and a demon conversing at the dead of night, but he doesn’t really find it amusing at all.

Enthralling, would be the right word actually, because you come down every midnight where he teaches you, and he teaches you, and he teaches you so much, and your eyes are so beautiful, your voice so kind, your smile so bright, and so you teach him what it means for his heart to race.

You two sit together tonight, your hands neatly folded over your lap as you sit on your knees; Minghao sits next to you, legs out in front of him as he leans back on his arms. Under the light of the half moon above, you’re both silent.

You don’t have anything to say, not tonight. The cool air that sits between says enough.

Some time through the moments you sit in silence, Minghao has a hand brushing over your knee. The touch is gentle and cool like the breeze that washes over your bodies. He leaves his fingers there for a few, graciously long minutes, watching you from the corner of his vision to see if you’ll turn away.

He thinks he might lose his damn mind when you don’t move an inch. And so he moves an inch up your thigh, another inch and then he’s under the pretty petals of your skirt, another inch and then he’s almost brushing against the soft fabric that’s nestled between your legs.

Minghao watches you carefully—the way you chew on your bottom lip and your hands squeeze each other a little tighter and then—fuck, you’re squirming already?

“W-what are we doing Minghao?” you ask him so sweetly he feels he might melt into the ground and take you down with him. You have the vaguest of ideas of where this is going to go, and the thought makes your skin bloom with shivers.

“I …” His breath hitches in his throat when you look at him with eyes that look at him like he holds the universe. “I can show you.”

When you flutter your eyes shut, nodding as you whisper, “Show me,” into his mouth, Minghao wraps his arm around your torso and pulls you onto his lap. His kisses are slow but telling; pressing his lips into yours, tongue lapping at your mouth until you gasp and open yourself to him again. Legs locked around his sides as his hands grip onto your waist, your noses against each other in tandem in hopes to dig deeper into the kiss.

You’re shy against Minghao, lips working fervently—you can tell just from the way his fingers glide up and down your sides, the way his tongue melts into yours, the way he holds you—you feel so safe with him.

And then there he is, hands sliding beneath the skirt of your dress and bunching the shining fabric up to your waist; the cool air hits your skin as you gasp into Minghao’s mouth, hugging him closer instinctively. In doing so, you shift forward, core brushing dangerously close to the hardness between his dark pants, and you swear you hear Minghao mutter a curse you’ve never heard before. The sound makes your tummy do tumbles.

“You’ll let me take this off … hm?” he murmurs as he pulls away, fingers toying with the sheen hem of your skirt.

“Y-yeah,” you murmur, shuffling backwards so you slip off his lap. You lean back on your hands in the grass with a deep sigh, legs spreading out in front of you as Minghao climbs onto his knees. His fingers start at your ankle, and the way his hooded eyes watch you lustfully has your breath caught in your throat.

He slowly trails his fingers over your legs, starting from your calf and moving up until it’s brushing past your knees and suddenly his palms are pressing on your inner thighs and shoving your legs apart to reveal the pretty white panties that sit in the middle.

Your core buzzes with a heat, and you find your bottom lip clamped between your teeth as you try not to whine when Minghao’s finger grazes over the thin fabric. “M-mingh—hao,” you breath out, when he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck and sucks hard against the skin.

Your skin flushes with heat and a sharp sting when his teeth graze over you, but the small moan that leaves your lips sings a melody of pleasure as he swipes his tongue over the bruising mark. Your mouth falls wide open, neck falling back, and Minghao slots one hand between your legs, pressing the pads of two fingers against that one bundle of nerves that has you squirming into the ground.

“O-oh,” you mutter as your hips start to erratically swivel against his in hopes for more friction.

“Patience fairy,” Minghao sings in that sickly sweet tone of his. You wonder if he dropped from the treetops himself from the way he coos so kindly.

“It feels—oh … Oh, Minghao—”

“Tell me pretty … tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers in a dangerously low tone, breath fanning over your neck in a way that sends shivers down your spine. Minghao traces methodical circles around your clit, and you can feel a warm wetness grow beneath your panties, causing the fabric to stick against your slick core.

You want to thrash in his arms and squirm into his hold—you want to let tears well up in your eyes and cry because everything’s feeling so good and you can’t think … can’t manage a single damn word.

“Feels—feels good,” you manage out in broken huffs of breath, legs spreading wider than you thought they could. Minghao chuckles as he lifts his head back to watch the way you tremble in front of him, and if you weren’t so dizzy on pleasure, you’d be burning from embarrassment.

“Yeah? Can make you feel even better if you …” He shrugs casually and gestures towards your dress and panties. “If you move some stuff out of the way.”

You don’t hesitate to yank at the straps of your dress, shoving them down haphazardly with trembling fingers. You’re on fire, if anything, and Minghao grins widely as he helps you desperately shimmy out of your clothes.

You start with the dress, flowy fabric slipping off your shoulders and falling down your stomach, finally pooling at your hips where Minghao takes control and pulls it off your legs. You’re left clad in only your panties which are now sheen with arousal, cool air pricking at your bare skin under the moonlight.

“Oh fairy,” Minghao nearily moans when you finally lay back down on the grass, tits bare and spilling all over your chest as your naked legs make room for him to sit between them. “So pretty … so naughty …”

“‘m not naughty,” you try to mumble, but the hoarse desperation in your voice gives you away. “J-just, wanna feel go—oh—good,” you finish with a heavy sigh when Minghao’s fingers are at your core again but this time, sliding your panties to the side to reveal your folds.

“Feeling good, huh pretty?” Minghao murmurs, not giving you a moment’s rest as he plunges his fingers right into the dripping mess. You cry out, back arching off the soft grass as you feel the length of his long, thick fingers slide between your pulsing folds.

“Oh, f-fu—” Your eyebrows furrow when you feel one finger circle around your glistening hole, causing your whole body to twitch with an ache you didn’t even know was possible to feel.

“Say it fairy, say it,” Minghao groans, hearing the dying words on your lips.

“It’s dirty,” you whimper, one hand shooting down to circle around his wrist as you try to guide his finger into your throbbing hole, but Minghao holds his stature firm.

“Say it, or I won’t make you feel good,” he threatens, and your eyes widen as a complaint bubbles at your throat. The way Minghao gives you that warning, predatory look shuts you right up.

“Oh—oh fuck,” you finally mewl. The way your plush lips let the word fall so kindly from your lips has Minghao’s head spinning, and he can’t even find it in him to control himself when he finally sinks his fingers into your hot cunt. “Minghao—”

“So scandalous, huh pretty?” Minghao asks you with condescension dripping from his tone as your eyes roll to the back of your head when he rubs his fingers against your gummy walls. “The perfect fairy … messing around with some fuckin’ mean-faced, bad, bad demon.”

“‘s’not like that,” you try to gasp out, core throbbing when he somehow sinks his fingers in deeper. Your legs writhe around Minghao, but his firm hand plants itself on your right thigh, pressing you down and into compliance.

He hums lowly, the sound rumbling deep in his throat as he watches you struggle to keep your composure; Minghao can see it already—the way your forearms tremble under your weight as you lose yourself to him entirely. “You sure fairy? ‘cause from what I’m seeing … it’s exactly like that.”

There’s a protest right at the tip of your tongue but then he grazes against this one spot inside your hot, tight cunt that has you crying out, head thrown back, eyes rolling all over the place until you’re panting: “M-Minghao it feels—oh, don’t stop!”

There’s a dark sort of grin that tugs at his plush lips as those words leave your mouth. With one eyebrow raised, he starts to fuck his fingers into you faster, thumb toying roughly with your clit as you mindlessly buck your hips into his hand. “Aw, my pretty’s gonna cum? You gonna cum?”

There isn’t a single thought in your mind, and even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to comprehend what Minghao was saying, yet still there’s that funny, burning feeling building in your stomach as all you know is that you don’t want to let it—you can’t let it stop. “Y-yeah,” you whimper as your walls tighten around his fingers. “Yeah … H-hao—I wanna cum.”

Minghao smirks at the slurred words, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade when he feels you spasm under him. “Cum for me, fairy,” he murmurs when you cry out his name, hands flying up to grip his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash down on you.

Broken words die at your lips as you erupt into high pitched moans , orgasm taking over you; Minghao sucks and nips at your neck until finally tracing his lips up to yours, engulfing you in a deep kiss as you ride out the high.

“There we go fairy, pretty fairy … looks so cute when she cums …” Minghao says once he finally pulls away, gazing down at your blown out eyes as you struggle to sit up right. Steadily, he lifts his hand from between your legs, tracing the warm stickiness across the insides of your thighs before holding it up in front of your face.

“Th-that’s—” You inhale deeply before continuing, still staring at the glistening arousal that coats his fingers. “—that’s embarrassing, Minghao,” you rush out, reaching out to swat his hand away, but he dodges and instead plunges the fingers in his own mouth.

His eyes don’t break away from yours, staring down at you in a way that has your sensitive core buzzing all over again with that sweet excitement. “You taste so good, pretty,” Minghao says lustfully, finally pulling his fingers out with a loud popping sound. He watches you carefully for a few moments—the way your pupils are dilated, your bare chest heaving gently, skin wearing a glossy layer of sweat, face flush with swollen lips …

Minghao wants to ruin you.

“You’ll let me do more, pretty?” he asks, and the way he peers down at you with dark, alluring eyes has your head nodding before you can even think to imagine what Minghao means by more. “Good fairy,” he purrs, crawling onto his knees back between your legs, nudging your thighs apart.

“What—what are we doing?” you ask him innocently, eyes widening when he reaches for the dark, ragged shirt that hugs his torso and pulls it off. Your first instinct is to reach out and touch because fuck, he’s beautiful, and you’ve always been one to admire the beautiful.

His body is firm with muscle, heavy round shoulders shining under the moonlight as you back into the ground. Minghao is on top of you now, hands on either side of your head as he hovers over you. “You’ll feel good,” he tells you, watching how you run your hands all over his sides as if you were a child being shown candy for the first time.

“Again?” you ask innocently, eyelashes batting up to look him in the eye as your hands instinctively find the waistband of his pants. Minghao lets one corner of his lips lift up in a half smile, nodding his head as if to tell you to go on.

“Yeah, again,” Minghao reaffirms, and you’d be lying if you didn’t squeeze your thighs just a little closer together at the thought. “We’ll feel good together,” he says, and oh this will mark the loss of your sanity, because something in your blood buzzes at the thought of Minghao feeling good right alongside you and you spiral.

Suddenly desperate, you’re yanking down his pants—you don’t even know what’s coming your way (have no clue really), but you also don’t care because you’re just so needy and you know (you just know) Minghao will give it all.

“There we go,” he coos, helping you out with one hand to shove down the dark pants and black underwear that sits beneath. His length springs out in an instant, firm as it hits against your inner thigh with a loud slapping sound that rings in your ears.

Eyes glossy as you mindlessly gaze down at him, your mouth watering at the mere sight of the flush red tip, milky white oozing out from the top and glittering under the minimal light. “You like the sight, fairy?” he asks, reaching to pinch your cheek lightly. Your nose scrunches up for a moment, but you soon lean into his touch when your eyes trail back down to his thick length.

“Y-yeah,” you admit bashfully, letting him shuffle closer between your legs until his length sits on your stomach, balls pressed against your puffy folds. The light contact has your head going dizzy already, and takes every ounce of self restraint to not moan at the feeling.

“G’na be right here here,” Minghao mutters, running his wet fingers over the base of his length, holding it up just to tap it back down on the base of your stomach. “Cock’s gonna fuck you all the way here,” and the thought of being so deep seems to be just as numbing to Minghao as it is to you because you catch the way he gulps down hard.

“Please,” you choke out when he shifts against you, his cock brushing against your throbbing clit a bit harder. “Please—fuck, I need it now, Hao—please.”

“Poor fairy,” Minghao groans, pulling his hips back so his cock no longer rests against your stomach but now slides between your sticky folds. “Poor, poor baby … begging a filthy demon for his cock.”

The way your cunt tightens around nothing at his words has you questioning everything anyone has ever told you, but the thoughts are wiped from your mind when his fat tip nudges against your now aching hole.

“Oh fuck, it’s s’big Minghao,” you murmur when he presses himself into you. “O-oh, I don’t—I don’ think s’gonna fit,” you gasp out when he slips in further, eyes stinging with tears of both pain and pleasure.

“You want to stop?” he asks, stilling his movements.

“No!” you exclaim, a little too quickly maybe, because your excitement has Minghao’s eyes darkening in a way that tells you you’re really in for it now. “I-I—no … I don’t want you to stop.”

“Hm,” Minghao hums while nodding. “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” he says casually in that low, gravely voice that has your breath getting stuck in your throat. “I’ll make it fit.”

Your legs tremble when he sinks his length into you even deeper, punching moans right out of your lungs and squirming under his arms until you feel his pelvis brush against your clit. You’re a babbling mess right now, Minghao having his chest pressed against yours as you whisper into his mouth about how it “feels so good,” how you “feel s’full,” how you’re “in love … so in love.”

“See fairy,” he murmurs, dragging his length out at a dangerously slow pace before shoving back into you at once so fast his balls slap against your skin with a harsh sting. “Made it fit, didn’t I?”

You wanna cry out and say yeah, yeah he fucking did, but your tongue feels like lead when you try to speak, only moans and squeaks of pleasure escaping your lips as his cock fucks into you faster. Minghao’s got one hand by your head, the other trailing all over your body—tracing the curves of your torso, cupping the flesh of your tits, playing with the sensitive nub of your nipple—you might as well be insane from the way your blood rushes at the feeling.

It’s so much—so, so, so much and you aren’t even sure how your body is taking it all, but there Minghao is, whispering sweet, dirty nothings by the shell of your ear.

“You like it? You like it don’t you fairy?”

“Wonder what the other fairies would think of this …”

“Moan louder pretty … put on a show for the whole damn forest, will you?”

It’s a muddled mess in your head, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you dig your heels into the ground to help thrust your own hips upwards to meet the snap of Minghao’s hips. The sloshing puddle of wetness between your thighs lets out obscene sounds that bounce off the trees around you. You wonder if you should be ashamed by how the sound makes your cunt clench.

“Put your hands up pretty,” Minghao grunts through sharp, pointed thrusts. The words fly over you for a moment, not understanding a bit of what he’s saying until his movements still and your eyes widen.

“W-what—why’d you—”

“Put your hands up.”

“S-sorry,” you moan in blind compliance, quickly lifting your hands and crossing your wrists above your head. Minghao’s larger hand is over them in an instant, pressing them into the soft grass as he goes back to fucking into you.

It’s messy now; hips jamming into hips in a passionately frantic pattern that has your body throttling in all kinds of directions until that familiar feeling balls inside of you once more. “Hao, ‘m gonna cum—”

“Wait. We’re supposed to feel together, right? Isn’t that right fairy?”

“Fuck!” you whine, hands thrashing under the strong hold Minghao has on you, desperate to touch him. “Don’t think I can wait, Minghao—oh—”

“You can do it fairy, do it for me,” he demands, punctuating the last word with a deep thrust that has your stomach feeling like it’s being pushed just to make room for him. “Hold it,” he orders, and you would be damned if you disobeyed Minghao, and so you dig your fingers into his back and pull him down for a deep kiss, trying to hold off from your impending orgasm.

He kisses you sloppily, and there’s tongue and teeth and lips all over each other until you’re both pantining into each others’ mouths. “Are you gonna cum?” you ask frantically when he pulls away, eyebrows furrowed with pure desperation. “Please—please, oh my g—Minghao, I need a cum!” you cry out as your walls begin to flutter and your legs begin to shake.

“Cum fairy—cum all over me,” Minghao groans when you tighten around his cock as he rails into you relentlessly, feeling his own end come near. “Lemme cum inside, pretty, fuck—”

Your mind spins at the thought of Minghao filling your hot cunt up and you can’t even think straight before you start to beg, “Yes, yes, yes please.”

“Fuck, gonna let me fill this fairy pussy all the way up, huh? Oh—pretty, fuck I’ll cum if you keep squeezing me like tha—oh.”

Something warm fills your core, walls spasming in an overstimulated mess as Minghao continues to fuck the oozing liquid back into you with vigor. “Shit—Minghao,” you whimper once his hips finally start to slow and eventually still, softening cock flopping out of your drenched folds.

His eyes are sharp as they watch you look up at him hazily. “That felt nice,” you murmur, swaying a little as the aftermath of two orgasms leaves you a trembling mess. Minghao is quick to reach for you, steadying you in his arms and onto his lap, bringing you in for a kiss.

It’s soft and sloppy, and you can feel your senses getting muddled up all over again as you cuddle into him. Minghao chuckles softly, looking down at your figure and then the dark trees that are around.

“Fuck, fairy …” He grins when he catches a glint of a dark eyed demon in the shadows. “You really put on a damn show, huh?”

(Minghao wonders how many times he’ll get to fuck you before Jeonghan starts telling the other demons about your guys’ little secret. Not that that’ll stop him anyways—he’s got the prettiest fairy in the whole damn forest at the palm of his hands, and he’d be damned if he let you go.)

#svt smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #minghao smut #minghao x reader #xu minghao #xu minghao smut #xu minghao x reader #the8 x reader #the8 smut #minghao fanfic #svr fanfic #📝 writing

1K notes · View notes

silvergyus · 10 months ago

Note

GIRL DAD YEONJUN IS A BIG YES LIKE OML I STALKED THROUGH YOUR HEADCANONS LIKE AN ABSOLUTE MADWOMAN i do not regret it its 7am and im melting from the fluffiness of it all

but what about the other members 👀

how would they be as a girldad and as a boydad? i’d love to see your take on it!

omg omg thank you so much anon🩷 we must be on opposite sides of the world lol

hehe I feel like I have differing opinions than the rest of moablr but please headcanon what you like!

txt as dads

⋆｡°✩ Yeonjun:

I obviously believe in girl dad!yeonjun supremacy (read more here and here) but I feel like he could also have an extremely cool son- think adult-size sunglasses too big for his lil face. a taste for fashion when his friends are wearing those horrendous neon Nike shorts. but yeonjun's daughter would be such a daddy's girl and he would be a girl dad first and foremost. yeonjun isn't as into video games as some of the other members so I feel like his son (or daughter) wouldn't be as into them as the kids of the other members either

rest of the members under the cut

⋆｡°✩ Soobin:

I believe in girl dad!soobin because 1.) it's the most adorable thing ever and 2.) I think it would be so funny

hear me out, we obviously saw him with the twins but he said he was super nervous going into that since he is only used to hanging out with his nephew. imagine soobin with two daughters having his first son and he thinks it's gonna be a breeze since "boys are easier" but boy, was he wrong. his cutie son is a lot to handle and it turns out raising a boy from birth is a *lot* different than being a leader

like every other moa, I can see soob having the most kids. he just seems like the type of guy to have kids hanging off of him. plays video games with his kids but is also very strict about them washing their face/brushing their teeth. reads to them a lot and gets sucked into the storybooks they read together even when it's something silly like the day the crayons quit (a favorite of mine when I was a student librarian hehe)

⋆｡°✩ Beomgyu:

BOY DAD!!! I know girl dad!beomgyu is so popular but I just feel in my heart that he is a boy dad!! picture him and his son in matching sunglasses and tshirts. those silly ones with like "the original" on his and "the remix" on his son's. would call the baby "beomgyu junior" the whole pregnancy but once the baby was born he would have a million lil nicknames for that kid.

I can specifically picture beomgyu getting one of the other members to both go out with their babies in carriers on their chests and they just wave to everyone they see with the babies' hands. like, use the babies' hands to wave instead of theirs

boy dad beomgyu who builds the best pillowforts and is the best at play fighting and buys the coolest nerf guns and foam swords. boy dad beomgyu who had a special relationship with his dad and carries those traditions on with his kids. boy dad beomgyu who plays guitar for his kids and they think he's the coolest dad ever

if he has a daughter, she totally roughhouses with the boys but she gets princess treatment when she sits on daddy's lap while he plays guitar, her tiny fingers resting on the wood so she can feel the vibrations of the music. her big eyes filled with such deep appreciation for the music.

⋆｡°✩ Taehyun:

hmmm, honestly I also feel boy dad but he has a science son :) his wide-eyed son with glow in the dark stars on his ceiling and an ant farm and he exclusively wears dinosaur tshirts. taehyun and him nerd out together all the time. his son loves the planetarium and the library and also is in all the school plays. plays minecraft with beomgyu's son and soobin's oldest daughter

however, I can also see tyun's kids playing a lot of soccer (I can see him with two boys, close in age). they both would be on the soccer team that he assistant coaches (thank you @https-yeonjun for that headcanon<3). they are both into soccer- just like their daddy- and the one is into a bunch of other sports so he's always off to practice somewhere with his grass-stained knees and toothy grin. the three of them would spend match days glued to the tv to watch their favorite team. he'd buy them all matching jerseys for their favorite team too, with each of their favorite players names on the back

also taehyun would absolutely get a cat for his kids and they would have a chore wheel for days on who feeds it/ cleans the litterbox

if tyun had a daughter she would have the highest standards as a grown-up like. not quite spoiled like yeonjun's daughter, but omg the absolute most princess treatment of all time. that girl would have all her oranges peeled and her juice poured in her favorite cup and her hair brushed and she would never walk because she'd want to be carried everywhere and her daddy is strong so he carries her. she totally wears the matching soccer jerseys with her brothers and daddy too like, c'mon. soccer jersey and tutu and she absolutely crushes the other team when she's on the field

⋆｡°✩ Hyuka:

I feel like hyuka girl dad??? I also feel like he has the second most kids behind soobin. his daughter is just like him, effortlessly good at playing musical instruments. she plays like 4 and the house is always full of music. he's really calm as a dad and he isn't super shook when his kids act up. really good at gentle parenting and loves to teach his kids through their shared interests.

his daughter's bed is absolutely full of plushies. she def collects them and names them and they have a special order they have to go in on her bed. she sleeps with them all every night and gives each one a kiss before she goes to sleep. he takes her to the store and is the biggest enabler of her collection. he says he isn't spoiling her, just gifting her as a fellow collector, but we know she's spoiled

you know how hyuka is a copy-and-paste of his dad? if he has a son it's 100% gonna be a carbon copy of him. like, that boy is a HUENING and everyone can tell. tallest kid in his grade and has the exact same laugh and nose and eye crinkles.

any hueningkids would absolutely LOVE pokemon though, just like their dad. and they would totally get a dog and name it eevee

#hehe I had so much fun writing these omg #txt soft thoughts #txt soft hours #txt headcanons #ari writes #ari's mailbox 📬#yeonjun soft hours #soobin soft hours #beomgyu soft hours #taehyun soft hours #hueningkai soft hours #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #dad!txt

334 notes · View notes

stsgluver · 9 months ago

Note

can I request fluff drabble with geto where the reader has insomnia and he reads to her to help her fall asleep? Congrats on 2k!!

synopsis. you're struggling to sleep after toji's attack.

a/n. thank you!! I hope you enjoy <33 I keep adding Toji in as the bad guy atm and I will continue to do so. also to the lovely anon that requested the academic rivals to lovers I AM IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING IT but it's going to be a lot longer than a short drabble xxx

2k event

“what are you doing?”

you squinted at the sudden light that filled the room. glancing over your shoulder, geto was half sat up, the bedside lamp next to him casting a yellow glow over his tanned skin. he looked tired, eyes half closed, and you felt a pang of guilt.

“sorry suguru,” your hand reached out for his and you interlocked your fingers, giving him a light squeeze. “i didn’t mean to wake you.” you’d been trying to get more comfortable in bed because after two painstakingly long hours of laying and staring at the ceiling, you were starting to get bored.

you’d initially been close to geto, limbs intertwined and his arms securely around you until you’d decided that maybe you were too hot and that was why you couldn’t sleep. except when you moved away you were faced with the same problem and now you weren’t in your boyfriend’s arms – your predicament only worsening.

“why are you awake?” his voice was groggy and sleep was still evident. in any other situation you think you would have just curled back into his arms and let him talk you back to sleep, loving nothing more than to hear him whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

there was a look in his dark eyes though, one that said he already knew the answer to your question. that there was no point in telling him that it was the temperatures keeping you up because you couldn’t even really convince yourself that that was true, let alone him.

you shuffled close to him to rest your head onto his shoulder. one of his arms wrapped around your body, holding you as close as possible to press an encouraging kiss to your forehead.

“i see him every time i close my eyes,” you whispered, voice trembling at the admission.

geto was shirtless – as he usually was when he slept – and you could see the two large jagged lines that served as a reminder of the man that had nearly slaughtered the two of you and gojo. your fingers hesitantly traced the outline as a silence settled between the two of you.

you’d all been struggling since toji had attacked and you had lost the star plasma vessel. gojo had thrown himself into more training, happily taking on the additional workload the higher ups gave him. geto had become more withdrawn (something you’d tried to talk to him about and he’d dismiss everytime). you, on the other hand, had managed to maintain some kind of normalcy throughout your days, it was at night when all of your issues bubbled to the surface.

“satoru killed him,” geto murmured into your hair, trying his best to ease your racing mind. “you know i won’t let anything hurt you like that again.” you wanted to believe him, you really did, but the phantom pain that bloomed from the scar where you’d been shot throbbed. it was like it was mocking you that no matter how powerful your boyfriend was, no matter how powerful you were, you’d been bested by a mere man with a gun.

when you didn’t respond, geto slipped out of bed, leaving you to sit yourself up properly against the headboard. “where are you going?” you asked him tentatively, a brief moment of insecurity questioning if he was going elsewhere to get a full night’s sleep.

your face lit up in a smile, however, when you realised he was just looking for the book you’d left half read on your desk. when you’d first started dating, most of your alone time happened between lessons. geto would join you underneath a tree of your choosing, head in your lap as you read aloud and he took a nap.

“i love you,” you murmured once geto had settled back into bed. he’d committed to his bit, even going as far as to steal your reading glasses. your giggle was worth it and, for a brief moment, all feelings of unease disappeared for the two of you.

“i love you. now,” geto flicked through the pages to find the small bookmark you had made together, “where were we…”

#𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 #geto #geto suguru #suguru #geto x reader #geto x yn #geto x you #geto fic #geto fluff #geto fics #geto imagines #geto oneshots

267 notes · View notes

lipglossanon · 2 years ago

Text

Behind Every Lie There’s A Bird Song Within

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

{previous installment} | | {next installment}

Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

shoutout to @gumiegumie hope you enjoy it!! And also to the anon who wanted angst with a happy ending!!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, angst, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Leon being nicer in this one 🤭

Not proofread as per the usual

Title from Don’t Fake This by Chevelle

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

It’s slow dreary Saturday and you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone. After catching up with your friends and perusing TikTok for the umpteenth time, you sigh and flop back onto your bed, phone locked and set aside.

You look up at your glow in the dark stars and drum your fingers on your stomach.

“Could go for a snack,” you say to yourself out loud.

Rolling off your bed, you set your phone on the nightstand then make your way downstairs. You pass by Leon’s room, noticing the door’s open and no one’s inside. Shrugging, you don’t think anything else of it and continue on downstairs to head into the kitchen.

Sock clad feet step on the bottom stair when you hear voices coming from the living room. Pausing, you tilt your head up trying to place who it is. You quietly walk a little closer, wanting to be nosy but not obvious, and peek into the room.

What you see makes your heart drop like a stone. Leon’s sitting on the couch next to some pretty girl; a movie’s playing on the tv but they’re so busy talking and laughing with each other that it’s practically an afterthought.

Your chest feels so tight when you watch as Leon puts his arm around the unknown girl and pulls her in for a hug. The girl’s giggling and pushing at his chest but not really trying that hard to get away.

You feel sick—nauseous—stomach acid fizzing with your nerves. Leon says something too low for you to hear and the girl laughs and smacks his arm. You want to disappear, wish you’d never come downstairs but if you hadn’t you’d never know and isn’t thatsomehow even worse?

Your nails dig into your palms as you watch the girl drag her hands down his arms, lips turned up into the biggest smile. Leon does nothing to stop her and in fact takes her hands in his as they continue talking.

You blink, not realizing the tears welling up in your eyes. Why should you even care? I mean technically you’re not dating—hell how could you? You’re step siblings; you’re just messing around for the fun of it. You wipe at your face with the palms of your hands. He obviously isn’t that serious about you, doesn’t see you romantically so it’s no big deal.

With that last thought, you close your eyes to the scene in the living room and turn around. You head back upstairs, appetite long forgotten, and lock yourself in your room. You flop down onto your bed and bury your face in your pillows.

Disappointment and heartbreak are making you curl in on yourself. You let yourself cry, hating that you let yourself get so attached to something that didn’t really mean anything. You can’t even be upset with Leon; you’re the one who let yourself get pulled into those giddy feelings, thinking you’re different—special.

You cry until your eyes are puffy and swollen. Raising up, you get out of bed to search for your bag. Once you find it, you dig around to pull out a small pack of tissues. Sitting at your vanity, you clean the dried tears on your face and toss the tissues in the trash.

Feeling sad and wrung out, you lay back down on your bed, pulling the covers up to cocoon yourself against the world. Unsure of how long you stay like this, you’re startled when there’s a loud knock at your door.

“Honey, dinner’s ready,” your mom calls out.

“‘m not hungry,” your hoarse voice replies.

A pause on the other side of the door then, “Are you okay? You sound a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you clear your throat, “just tired.”

“Well,” your mom continues, “it might do you some good to get out of your room and come downstairs.”

“I’m fine, mom, really,” you kick off the blankets but don’t leave your bed.

“Honey I think— oh, Leon, good. You think you can get her to come out? Sometimes moms aren’t the most convincing,” she laughs.

“Sure,” you hear him reply and it makes your stomach roll with nerves.

He raps his knuckles on the door, “Hey, foods gonna get cold if you don’t come down for dinner, princess.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” your voice is cold, firm, “so go ahead without me.”

The knob rattles but the door stays shut.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you hear the confusion in his voice and your mom hums.

“I think she’s sick,” she taps on the door, “C’mon honey, come out and let me make you some soup or a grilled cheese. You don’t have to eat anything heavy if you’re not feeling good.”

Feeling frustration beat at your temples, you push yourself out of bed and walk over to your door.

Unlocking it and pulling it open, you take in the concerned faces of your mom and Leon.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, pushing past them and making your way downstairs to the dining room.

Your stepdad’s already seated at the table and he frowns at you in concern.

“Feeling okay?”

“Fine,” you shrug, sitting in your seat, “not that hungry though.”

“Ah,” he nods, “well you can cut out early. Don’t worry about your mom, I’ll talk to her.”

You give him a small smile, feeling a little relief in the midst of your tumultuous emotions.

“Thanks.”

Your mom and Leon step into the room and you drop your gaze down to your plate. Walking to stand next to you, your mom checks your temperature with her palm.

“Hmm you’re not running a fever at least.”

“Told you I’m fine, just not feeling hungry.”

Your mom purses her lips but drops her hand and heads to her seat.

Leon tries to get your attention, but you completely ignore him and push your food around your plate. You drink some water, throat feeling a little dry from the crying jag earlier.

“May I be excused?” you ask, looking at your stepdad.

“Sure, and leave your plate. I’ll get it.”

Your mom frowns at him then looks at you, “Honey—“

“She’ll be fine, let her go,” your stepdad motions his hand to the door, “she’ll eat when she’s hungry.”

You nod and stand up from the table, making your way back upstairs. Halfway up the flight, you feel a hand grab your wrist.

“Let go, Leon,” your voice comes out bland and tired.

“No,” he tugs until your turned halfway towards him.

You stand a couple of steps above him making him look up at you. He takes in your swollen eyes and stiff demeanor.

“What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

You sneer at him, “So? What’s it to you?”

His brows furrow, blue eyes filled with something you don’t want to see, “Princess, who made you cry?”

“You,” your voice escapes your throat before you can think better of it.

A wounded look comes into his face, “Me? What did I—“

You yank your hand away from him, “Who cares, Leon. I’m fine just leave me alone.”

You turn back and continue up the stairs, Leon hot on your heels. He grabs your shoulder this time and spins you around, his hands wrap around your biceps to hold you in place.

“I care,” he heatedly tells you, “what did I do?”

“Forget it,” you hiss, trying to pull away from him, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” he growls, “what the fuck did I do?”

“Nothing!” you whisper scream at him, eyes angry as you stare him down, “you did nothing, Leon.”

You feel tears pricking your lash line but you keep your gaze locked with his shocked one.

“I’m upset at myself. I let myself get carried away,” you grit out, tears slipping from your eyes, “so go hang out with your girlfriend and leave me alone.”

A look of confusion overtakes his features, “Girlfriend? What girl—“

His eyes widen in recognition and then darken. He drops your arms but as you’re stepping away he grabs your waist and puts you over his shoulder.

“Leon!” You slap at his back, “what the fu—“

He carries you into his room, kicking the door shut and locking it. He tosses you onto his bed, following quickly to pin you down by holding your wrists above your head.

“Let go or I’m going to scream!” You yell up at him, “god you suck Leon, I hate—“

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” his voice is deep and harsh, “whatever you think you saw, wasn’t anything. Anything. Okay?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, chest feeling split open with feelings of heartbreak and despair.

“Sure thing, Leon. And I’m sure if I asked her she’d give me the same spiel.”

“She would cause she’s my first cousin,” he practically snarls in your face, “you’re such a fucking brat, god.”

“What?” you feel as if in a free fall.

The fights leaves you, body now limp in Leon’s grasp. Different thoughts war for attention but the only thing you can really focus on is the warmth blooming in your chest.

“Cousin?” you ask dazedly, wide eyes looking up into his dark blue gaze.

“Yes,” he glares down at you, “we haven’t seen each other in ages so we were catching up. You would’ve known if you just would’ve introduced yourself like a normal fucking person.”

“I-I didn’t—“ you start to softly cry and his face softens.

“Hey, hey, no I’m sorry, fuck I shouldn’t have said it that way,” he lets go of your wrists and pulls you into his arms.

Laying on your sides now, he pets your hair with one hand and rubs your back with the other.

“Princess, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you cry,” he kisses the top of your head.

You press your face harder into his chest, wetting his shirt with your tears.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, then louder to you, “hey, it’s okay. I promise I don’t have anyone else. You’re my special girl, why would I ruin that, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you hiccup.

You press your face harder into his chest, no longer crying; slowly breathing in his woodsy cologne is helping you feel calm. You keep nuzzling his chest while he pets your hair and back.

Once he can feel your breathing return to normal, he pulls you away from his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing under your eye, “you okay?”

You give a weak smile, “I’m better now.”

“Good,” he drags his thumb down to swipe across your bottom lip, “I’m about to show my girl how special she really is.”

Your breath hitches and Leon slips his thumb between your lips.

“Seems my little sister needs to be reminded who she belongs to.”

You moan, eyes fluttering as he pulls his thumb from your mouth. He drags it back and forth over your lips until they’re damp with spit. He kisses you hard, tongue fucking into your pliant mouth over and over.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders trying to pull him closer.

“Lay back, baby. Gotta be sweet to my other girl too,” he presses you down on your back and helps you tug your shorts and panties off.

“God, she really looks like she needs big brother’s kisses huh,” he groans, laying down between your legs as you whine.

“P-please,” you whimper.

“Shh, don’t worry princess, gonna be real sweet to you tonight,” he promises, hands skimming up your legs to grip your thighs.

“Fuck can’t wait to eat out this little cunt,” he kisses your thigh, teeth nipping the skin, “she’s crying for me already.”

“Leon,” you gasp as he bites down on your thigh and sucks.

He worries the skin until he feels certain a bruise is forming. Your legs kick as he does the same to the other thigh. Your pussy is starting to leak all over his sheets.

His dark eyes watch as clear strings of slick drip from your needy cunt to his bed. He buries his face in your soaked pussy with a moan.

“Leon,” you whimper, hands finding their way into his hair and gripping tightly.

“You can pull my hair if you need to baby, I don’t mind,” he says, pulling back from your pussy, “like knowing I’m making my girls feel so good.”

“Fuck,” you bite your lip, watching as Leon goes back to licking and sucking your clit.

Your hips writhe but he pins you down to his bed as he fucks his tongue in your wet hole. You bring one hand up to muffle your whines in case your parents walk by the room. Leon runs his tongue up from your hole to lap at your sensitive clit. He sucks on it gently and then kisses your clit over and over until your hips are pushing up into his mouth.

“Let me kiss her baby, gotta make sure she gets enough of big brother’s kisses too,” he chuckles, the vibration pulsing in your pussy.

He groans when you tug his hair, “God, why would I even want anyone else, princess. So sweet for me, want you all the fucking time that it’s stupid.”

“Yeah?” You whine, watching as your slick leaks out onto Leon’s mouth making his lips shiny.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he kisses the hood of your clit, then spreads your pussy open so he can kiss on your clit directly.

You try to kick your feet, feeling so much from his pouty lips on your cunt.

“Wanna sneak in your room at night and just have my way with you,” he groans, tongue licking into your pussy, “so when you wake up I’m already balls deep in your little cunt.”

You muffle a high pitched whine as you roll your hips down into his mouth.

“Fuck, you like that?” he grins, pupils blown wide, “guess I need to show my little sister what she’s missing out on.”

He tongue kisses your drippy hole, tongue sliding deeper against your fluttering walls. He pulls back to spit on your clit then laps it up with broad strokes of his tongue. You tug his hair again making him moan and press his face into your throbbing pussy. His nose bumps your clit as he fucks his tongue in and out, in and out, in and out, until your eyes are rolling back in your head.

“Leon, m’gonna cum,” you whisper down to him, biting your thumb to muffle your voice.

“Mmm, then cum on my tongue, princess,” he sucks on your clit, moving one hand from your thighs to push your thumb from your mouth to slip his first and middle finger past your lips.

You buck your hips into the hot, wet suction on your swollen clit and whine. Grabbing his wrist with the hand not tugging Leon’s hair, you hold his hand in place while eagerly sucking and moaning around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin.

Leon groans into your cunt and flicks his tongue over your clit which is the last straw for you; your legs clamp down around his head as your hips thrust up against his mouth, pussy fluttering around nothing as you cum. He moans and pushes his tongue into your clenching walls, eagerly tasting the slick quickly pooling in his mouth. A low moan builds in your throat, gargling around the fingers you’re still softly suckling.

With one last wet kiss to your cunt, Leon raises up. Slick coats his lips and jaw, dripping off his chin. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and grabs your waist to yank you down. You back slides against his sheets until you’re caged underneath him. He cradles your jaw before kissing you hotly, tongue pushing past your swollen lips to share the taste of your pussy. Moaning, you wrap your hands around his shoulders and pull him closer.

He moves his mouth away to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, “So fucking perfect.”

You feel his hands clench around your waist, broad palms squeezing you tightly as he ruts his hips against you.

“Leon,” you sigh, nails running across the nape of his neck.

He shuts his eyes with a harsh breath and pulls back from you. Whining you reach out to him, but he holds your hands in his.

“Want to make this all about you, princess,” his eyes reopen, sea storm blue hungrily taking in your body, “you make it so fucking hard though.”

A quick knock of ‘shave and a haircut’ on the door sounds out before Leon’s dad calls out, “Hey, we’re going to finish up that crime show so you better get downstairs or we’ll watch it without ya.”

“Okay, pops. Be down in a minute.”

“I’ll knock on—“

“Nah, I’ll let her know,” he cuts him off, eyes never leaving yours, “we’ll see you downstairs.”

Waiting a beat to make sure his dad is gone, Leon stands up from the bed. He helps you to stand and grabs your clothes from the floor. Handing them over, he runs his hands through his messy hair.

“Uh, I’ll duck out and let you get dressed. You don’t have to come down if you don’t want,” he brushes your cheek with his knuckles.

“Thanks, Leon,” voice soft and shy, you press up on you tiptoes and kiss his cheek.

“No problem, sweetheart,” he kisses you again, chaste and quick.

He adjusts himself in his sweats and quirks an eyebrow at you, “So does it look like I just ate my little sister out in my bed?”

“Leon!” You cover your mouth, muffling your laugh as you smack his arm.

He ducks back, missing your hand, “Just making sure, princess.”

Opening the door, he looks down the hall and seeing no one, slips out.

Before closing it completely, his eyes take in your half naked state; a grin tugs at the edge of his lips, “See you downstairs.”

Rolling your eyes at the closed door, you quickly dress to follow him.

#stepbro leon s kennedy/you #stepbro!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #stepbro!leon s kennedy #stepcest #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #fem!reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil smut

464 notes · View notes

lilyrizzy · 5 months ago

Note

for jacknico: jack is used to being called “pretty” as an insult- to emasculate him, minimize his accomplishments and talent, etc etc so he always bristles at someone calling him pretty… until nico does it in a tender/intimate moment and oh. the whole meaning of the word changes. augh

okay anon this isn't reallyyyy what you wanted but...it felt right. I hope you like it anyway! also on ao3

Tilting his head back, Jack tries to make the patterns of stars above him into constellations. They shine bright despite the distant glow of city lights around him, the hotel rooftop dark enough not to dull them. If this were his apartment building in Newark, Jack isn’t sure he’d get to see this many.

Not that it matters. Jersey is home now, stars or no stars. He’s only sat here on this roof because of Trevor, because he wouldn’t stop banging on about the calming abilities of his fucking sunsets.

California sky, man. Nothing like it.

And after watching the Ducks hand Jack's team their asses while he sat on his own in the fucking media box, he needs all the calm he can get.

He still can’t quite understand how Trevor can live in a place like this, with no seasons. Just hot and then hotter, no chilled winter air to close the windows of your apartment against. No need for extra blankets on the bed, just the constant blast of aircon against the thickness of the air. Even now, an hour past curfew it’s warm in a way that lets Jack sit here with no jacket.

He shouldn’t have come on this roadie. He wasn’t going to, was prepared to mope alone in his apartment until it was time for his surgery, but then-

Are you coming, Nico had asked him after turning up at Jack’s apartment with fucking chicken soup, like he had a cold and not a potentially season ending injury. I- I think the guys would like it best, if you came.

So Jack is in fucking Anaheim. By the time the team made it back to the hotel, the sun had long set, but he’s nothing if not someone who fucking tries.

It’s why he’s searching so hard now for Orion’s belt, for the big and little dipper’s that Quinn pointed out to him three summers ago. Anything to slow his pounding heart, to unfurl his clenched fists and help him forget the image of puck after puck sinking in their goal, to shake the maybe arrogant belief that, I could have given that game a different outcome.

The back of his neck prickles, and behind him he hears the fire escape door open and close.

“Jack?”

He doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Nico behind him. Hell, he didn’t even really need Nico to speak. It seems like lately, no matter where Jack has turned, there he is, both off ice and on it. If Jack was able to think badly of Nico he’d think he was taunting him with it, seeing how far he could push before Jack snapped and begged him for something they’d both regret, but- Nico isn’t mean.

Nico is good.

“Hischier,” Jack says, though he knows putting up walls is pointless when one look will have them crumbling as easily as a kicked sandcastle. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Nico snorts, and by the time Jack is brave enough to turn around, he’s there. Stood beside Jack’s stretched out legs, lowering himself to sit besides him.

“I could say the same thing to you,” he says, and with the simple exchange, Jack knows this isn’t his captain speaking, just his- Whatever Nico is.

It’s never felt simple enough to be friends.

“Did Ty rat me out?” Jack asks anyway, just to be sure. “Send you looking for me?”

Nico stretches his arms out behind him, falls back onto his hands and tilts his head back to look at the same stars Jack was just minutes ago.

“No,” he says easily. “Maybe I just wanted to see the stars as well.”

It’s easy to believe. Nico probably grew up under a sky full of them, in the Swiss mountains. Gorgeous, Jack has heard him describe his home multiple times, with a passion Jack can find for few things, hockey one of them. Maybe Nico knows these stars well enough to have used them more than once to impress someone, to get them into his bed.

Still, like always, Jack is unable to help offering something to Nico, even if it’s maybe not quite what he wants-

“That’s Orion’s belt,” Jack tells him.

His finger traces the pattern of it in the sky, and it feels headier than it should, to watch Nico’s eyes follow it. To see the arch of his neck as he tilts his head back to look at where Jack is pointing. He shifts closer to Jack, their ankles brushing. Nico is wearing sliders with no socks, and the bones of his ankles look weirdly smooth. Hairless.

What would they feel like, against-

“Oh yes,” Nico says, happily, “I can see it. You know all the constellations?”

Jack lets the thought go. It’s safer that way.

He distracts himself by showing Nico all the stars he knows. He can’t see them all, so when they’re lost to their eyes, he traces what they should look like against the inky black. Then, when he runs out, he starts to make them up. The big stick, the puck. The giant dick.

“There’s a special one, in Jersey,” he adds with a grin. “It’s called the bad-ass devil. You can only see it from the roof of our building though, so um. I’ll have to show you when we’re home.”

When he turns to look at Nico, to check he’s made him laugh, he sees that Nico is looking at him with surprisingly serious eyes despite his smile. Close like this, Jack notices the way the tips of his hair are damp like he showered again when he got back to the hotel. Except, no. Jack doesn’t have to have been in the locker room to know Nico didn’t shower there, too eager to get out, to get away the way Jack had been.

The same way Nico had known to look for Jack on the roof.

The longer Jack looks at Nico, the sweeter his smile gets. His dimple appears, high on his cheek, and Jack-

“What?” He dares to ask into the silence, but-

Kiss me, he thinks, and the clarity of it should startle him but who is he kidding. Every moment since he met Nico has been building to this one, stark desire. I’ll do anything you want if you just kiss me.

“You’re so pretty.”

The moment snaps, a string pulled too tight. Jack can’t help the way the word makes him recoil, jerking backwards to put more empty space between them.

“What?” He asks again, this time with an angry sounding laugh. “What- Fucking, okay Hischier.”

Pretty. Fucking pretty. Jack isn’t-

He scrambles to his feet, as quick as the twinge in the shoulder will let him. Nico stays frozen on the ground at his feet, his face crumpled into something dangerously close to hurt. It’s almost enough to have Jack smash his own head against the concrete wall behind them because he’s fucking this up. He’s fucking it up, but he has to say this. If anyone has to know, Nico has to know.

“I’m not some fucking- I'm going to be back,” he says, the words like venom sucked from a wound. “I’m going to be back, and then I’m going to score enough to carry this shit show of a team, and- And I’m going to do it all with my pretty fucking face.”

“Jack-“ Nico tries, finally pushing himself to his feet too, “Jack, I didn’t-“

But Jack doesn’t want to hear it. All he listens to is the crash of metal on metal as he slams the fire escape door shut behind him.

#thank you for the prompt anon <3 #don't worry #there is a sequel where jack gets to come about nico calling him pretty...#just...not yet;)#nicojack #1386 #fic

57 notes · View notes

ancientboyfriends · 10 days ago

Note

Could I request something platonic with Thanatos meeting and becoming friends with a shade reader who is Hypnos’ wife and mother of the oneiroi (as to how they had the kids, either through some random bullshit or their relationship started when wifey was alive and the children were had sometime before her death and brought into the Underworld to be with their mother)? Previously, no one knew about Hyp’s wife or kids outside of Hades, Persephone (because there’s no way he’s handling a secret relationship on his time off AND somehow got his kids into the Underworld without them knowing), and maybe Zag if he encountered wifey and the children on his runs.

I’m sorry if this is weirdly detailed. I just thought it’d be a cute concept. I love Thanatos deeply (the wing emoji I sign off with refers to both Hyp and Than), but that doesn’t mean I don’t think sometimes platonic stuff with him can also be really cute.

-🪽anon

Thanatos & Shade!Sister-In-Law!Reader

Honestly, it’s a miracle that you managed to keep the marriage, not to mention, the kids secret for so long; especially with how much Hypnos has been dying (no pun intended) to gush about you

You mentioned Hades and Persephone are the only ones who know, but I don’t think he’d be able to keep it from his mother Nyx either; they both live and work together, and she’s perceptive as hell

In the original mythology, there’s 1000 Oneiroi, but for this ask I’m just gonna stick to the triplets: Morpheus, Phobetor and Phantasos

I can’t really think of an origin for them either, so I’m just gonna say Hypnos pulled some godly magic to make it possible and now you’re both parents

I think you’d spend a lot of time in the nursery, looking after the babies, so that would be where Zag meets you (whenever Hypnos isn’t in his usual spot by the Styx at the end of the run, he’ll be in the nursery with you)

The nursery would be painted to look like the night sky, with glow in the dark stars on the ceiling

If your room would help Zag in any way, I think you would give him one of the babies’ toys to borrow, but they’re actually imbued with some kind of dream magic that can stun monsters or something idk

Or maybe you’d just full on give him one of your babies (they can use dream magic on the monsters and make them weaker/stun them), and when he dies, they just poof back to the nursery

So, one day, Zag and Than would be sitting in the lounge and talking, and Zag would make some kind of throwaway comment (something casual like “oh, I met Hypnos’ wife yesterday, she was lovely, your nephews are adorable”), and Than would be worried that he’s completely lost it

“Hypnos… is not married, nor does he have a children. I believe he would’ve told me, like he tells me everything else.”

But Zag insists, and now Than has to see this for himself, so he accompanies Zag on one of his runs, and that’s where they finally reach the nursery

You and Hypnos would be putting the babies down for a nap when you hear someone arrive, assuming it’s Zag, but as soon as Hypnos realises his brother is there, he gets very nervous

He’s never kept anything from his brother for, and he’s been feeling so guilty about keeping something as big as this from him

The only reason he kept it from him was because he didn’t think Than would understand, or he’d just get even more annoyed with Hypnos if he started showing him the countless hypothetical photos in his hypothetical wallet

Than’s just standing there in shock, staring between Hypnos’ stuttering, your sheepish smile, and the sleeping triplets in their crib; his gaze lingers on the crib the longest and he slowly floats over to it, peering down inside

When he sees his nephews—nephews—in there, looking all cute and sleepy, something tugs on his heart; he was prepared to be angry with his brother for keeping this from him, but thinking back to the way he always dismisses Hypnos for his job… wow, maybe he wouldn’t have even told himself about something like this

He and Hypnos have a brotherly hug and some heartfelt apologies, with Thanatos promising to be supportive of your relationship; and he lives up to that promise

Whenever both you and Hypnos are busy, he’d be glad to babysit; he’d either be carrying them in a baby carrier for triplets (two on his front, one on his back), or when they’re older, on child leashes as he goes about his job like it’s normal

Yes, the mortals are a little confused when Death finally comes for them, and he’s got three babies trying to chew on his scythe

On the rare occasions he gets a break, he’d chat with you in the nursery; asking you questions about your relationship with Hypnos, helping with the babies (he’d rather not change a diaper, though), and just getting to know you

I don’t know if he can do this, but for the sake of this ask let’s say he can, he brings back souvenirs from the surface; little wildflowers that he asks Persephone to preserve, toys that he sees lying around, anything

It reminds you of your old home on the surface, and it makes the babies giggle and squeal with delight as they play

Overtime, you start to become good friends, and he finally feels comfortable enough to call you his sister

Sometimes, when Zag reaches the nursery, Thanatos might be there too, holding onto a laughing baby, his stoic demeanour cracking ever-so-slightly

Can you imagine Hypnos’ face when he sees you both calling each other brother and sister for the first time? He has never smiled that wide in his life, and he instantly pulled you both into a tight hug

Overall, he’s a very good brother-in-law and uncle, loves you, his brother and your babies; but don’t you dare hurt his twin, or he will make your afterlife hell

#hades game #hades game x reader #hades supergiant #hades the game #hadesgame #supergiant hades #hades hypnos #hypnos hades #hypnos x reader #hades thanatos #thanatos hades #thanatos x reader #i wasn’t sure if i should tag this thanatos x reader #i hope you enjoy this because i feel like i didn’t cover a lot of the actual bonding part #i think i went into more detail about zag than than 😭#i didn’t mean to do that it just happened #i did try my best on the than parts though and i personally think they’re adorable #not biased at all

26 notes · View notes

tragedry · 7 months ago

Note

Now we need you to write a tyden confession scene............ y'know, to make things even. Or you can talk about when they realized their feeling for each other 🥺

the fact that y'all are starting to associate me to both ashler and tyden is hilarious cause i'm pretty sure i started this side blog to only talk about ashler asfhafla

but here we are, so let me try to put together a coherent enough tyden confession for you at 4 am:

side note: this got really long way too fast, and i'm pretty sure this only tackled aiden's feelings, but i hope you like it anyway anon!

when aiden realizes he's starting to like tyler, everything just clicks.

he's laying on his bed, his eyes staring up at the glow in the dark stars he's poorly glued on his ceiling back when he was ten when the realization hits him, and he's finally put a name to the emotion tyler manages to invoke inside his chest whenever the other boy would stop scowling and actually offer him one of those once-in-a-blue-moon, downright stunning smiles that probably belonged on a movie poster whenever one of aiden's jokes finally lands.

it's like the last step of figuring out how to solve a brand new rubik's cube, and for a moment he revels in the satisfaction of just knowing, except by the time he tries to figure out how to proceed from such a revelation, he’s coming up blank.

for the first time in his life, his crush on tyler is the only puzzle he has no idea how to move forward to.

if he’s being honest with himself, knowing that he actually likes the halfwit doesn't really change much of their situation, if anything it would probably only make things worse if tyler found out.

and it's not like he's stupid enough to actually believe he's got a shot, not when he's made it his entire personality to annoy the ever living shit out of the baseball player any chance he’s got.

the thought of tyler’s possible rejection inflicts a pain that courses through his entire body, stilling him until he has to remind himself to breathe.

aiden decides he doesn’t really like thinking about this particular puzzle anymore—not when his own emotions have cursed him.

he refuses to think about the problem any further. he’ll set his feelings for tyler aside and ignore it till it goes away completely.

he’s always been good at ignoring his problems, and this is no different.

with his mind made up, he lets himself relax until the pang in his chest dulls out and he’s ready to forget it was ever there in the first place.

and just when things were finally starting to feel normal again, that’s when the halfwit decided to reply to his text.

the reply is short, dry, and straight to the point– and it’s just so like him that aiden catches himself snorting when he reads the simple, “fuck if i know.” right after aiden’s last annoying question.

he hadn’t even expected the other boy to reply, except tyler always did.

no matter how much he purposely tries to piss him off or how many memes he sends the other boy, tyler will reply, whether it was a sarcastic comment or a curse, all of his messages are read and answered.

it was kind of addicting, to be heard-to have his existence acknowledged by someone who had every right to tell him to shut up and walk away.

he can feel his heartbeat racing all over again as he re-read tyler’s text, and as he typed out a reply he knew it was going to be hard for him to fall asleep.

the clock on his phone reads past 1 am, and he wants to point it out to tyler cause he’s always complaining about staying up late whenever aiden’s in the mood to mess with him.

but before he could say anything about it, tyler’s already sending him a brand new text, and this one’s even more humorless than before.

his earlier thought is momentarily forgotten, and he ends up sending the other boy a series of memes pointing out how badly tyler’s killing their convo with his lackluster replies, and aiden selfishly hopes that tyler takes the bait and talks to him even longer, even if just to prove him wrong.

aiden wonders if tyler would hate him for it.

he lifts his eyes back to the stars on his ceiling and hopes.

he hopes that tyler won’t hate him for being selfish, hopes that his feelings for the other boy won’t last, and hopes that by the time he wakes up the following day, the pain in his chest disappears completely.

his phone lights up with a brand new text and aiden begins to type out a reply without really reading what the text said.

'can you promise you won’t hate me too?'

the reply gets deleted, and he sends tyler another meme instead.

#me: i only ship tyler with ashlyn #also me: *types up around 800 words regarding aiden's crush on tyler in one sitting*#listen i do not control the brainworms #if the muse says she wants me to write tyden then that's exactly what i'm gonna have to do #sorry if i sound insane #and for not writing about the mutual feelings realization anon #i was craving for aiden angst tonight #tyden #aiden clark #tyler hernandez #school bus graveyard #ry.plies #anon ask

58 notes · View notes

slippinninque · 9 months ago

Note

how would Fontaine react to his girl’s’ pregnancy glow?

(So sorry this took so long, anon! I hope you like it!🥹💕)

Fontaine would be in awe, honestly. He'd wonder how it was possible for you to become even more gorgeous--but there you were. Being fine as hell as you hop-pulled into your jeans.

He would even swear that you smell different, too. Fontaine couldn't explain the smell, but expect to be cuddled close and enjoyed.

He would absolutely show you off. From his boys to strangers at the general store, Fontaine would walk with you and feel as if he won life's lottery.

When someone sees you and coo over your belly, Fontaine can be spotted grinning in 'yeah, that was me'.

Actually, fully expect to catch this man staring admiring you. Fontaine would embody "a moth to a flame" as he was even more helplessly drawn to you.

People often assume that he in wouldn't know shit, but he's thorough. Remembers every appointment and follow-up, he'd have his own questions ready to be asked alongside of your own. Yes, he reads the baby books.

Personally, he loved being asked about the pregnancy. "She's 'bout ___ weeks now. Little is hidin' in there, so we don't know just yet but my baby been eating a lot of spicy shit... y'all got them spicy pickles?"

Expect being given flowers and foot rubs. Even if you tell Fontaine nothing even aches yet, he insists that getting a head start wouldn't hurt.

You joke that the baby didn't even have all their toes yet but was already spoiled rotten.

When you two walk through the Glen, hand in hand, it's like seeing two suns walking. You wore your smile like a halo and Fontaine's grin was all golden rays.

----------

It's when you began to show, the roundness of your belly becoming more pronounced.

One evening, you were standing at the stove with one hand absentmindedly smoothing over your bump as you considered the chocolate-to-milk ratio for your hot chocolate.

Fontaine took in the new shape of you from where he sat at the small table across the room. He drank in your profile, your sweet face as plump and bewitching as the rest of you.

In the low light of the stove's over head light, Fontaine saw you as his entire world.

He knew you were scared. You were worried that you wouldn't be a good enough mother, or worse--you'll become like your own mother.

Fontaine was scared, too. He worried that the life would catch up to him, his darkness spreading to cover the growing stars of his life.

In this moment of seeing you and how you were braving this next chapter with him, he was resolute. He wouldn't let that happen.

Fontaine would do anything to ensure that you kept your brightness. Anything to keep the family you're giving him safe.

Unable to be away from you anymore, Fontaine rose and joined you at the stove. You aimed a meek little smile at him, somehow still unsure of your absolute beauty.

It didn't matter. He would remind you every moment, of every day if he had to. Fontaine kissed your lips, the tip of your nose, and beneath each eye. When you reached for him, he met your embrace and his eyes slipped close in bliss.

The two of you swayed together and soon he felt himself begin to glow as well.

------------

Thank you for reading!!!!! I appreciate the time you spent here! Tell me what you think, I know it was a little short but I hope the sweetness makes up for it! ✨💕💜

Tag list: @megamindsecretlair @notapradagurl7 @sageispunk @mcondance @blowmymbackout @wide-nose-and-wonderful @mybonafidefeelings @hobiesmain @justabovewater20 @planetblaque @kindofaintrovert @educatorsareslutstoo @mysterychick93 @yeonjoom @sevikasblackgf

(lemme know if you would like to be tagged!)

#fontaine x black reader #fontaine x reader #anon asks #they cloned tyrone #fontaine #fontaine fluff #fontaine x fem! black!reader

120 notes · View notes

esther-dot · 11 months ago

Note

Do you think Jon and Sansa will meet again at Castle Black, and from there, they will plan to take Winterfell? Or will Sansa take Winterfell on her own and reunite with Jon along the way? I’m of the idea of two lost souls who, when united, find the strength in each other to take the land of their family. But I don’t know, I haven’t finished the books yet so I need guidance on this.

I don’t consider myself an ASOIAF expert, anon so I don't offer guidance, but I will def share my thoughts with you!

In order to talk about this, I'm afraid there are some ADWD spoilers, though. If you mind that, maybe revisit this post after you've read it? Short version, I agree with you. Sansa should be involved in retaking Winterfell because we need a Stark there:

Battles had been fought at Winterfell before, but never one without a Stark on one side or the other. (ADWD, Jon VII)

but I think the reunion happens first because of the The Girl in Grey theory. I'll explain more below the cut due to the major Jon spoiler.

In ADWD, a character named Melisandre tells Jon about a vision she has:

She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander's Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said. "Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's. Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. "You will freeze your fingers off," Jon warned. "If that is the will of R'hllor. Night's powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god's holy fire." "You heart does not concern me. Just your hands."

"The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you." "I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" "… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will." She gazed at Ghost. "May I touch your … wolf?" The thought made Jon uneasy. "Best not." "He will not harm me. You call him Ghost, yes?" "Yes, but …" "Ghost." Melisandre made the word a song. The direwolf padded toward her. Wary, he stalked about her in a circle, sniffing. When she held out her hand he smelled that too, then shoved his nose against her fingers. Jon let out a white breath. "He is not always so …" "… warm? Warmth calls to warmth, Jon Snow." Her eyes were two red stars, shining in the dark. At her throat, her ruby gleamed, a third eye glowing brighter than the others. Jon had seen Ghost's eyes blazing red the same way, when they caught the light just right. "Ghost," he called. "To me." The direwolf looked at him as if he were a stranger. Jon frowned in disbelief. "That's … queer." "You think so?" She knelt and scratched Ghost behind his ear. "Your Wall is a queer place, but there is power here, if you will use it. Power in you, and in this beast. You resist it, and that is your mistake. Embrace it. Use it." I am not a wolf, he thought. "And how would I do that?" "I can show you." Melisandre draped one slender arm over Ghost, and the direwolf licked her face. "The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows." "Shadows." The world seemed darker when he said it. "Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. A girl in grey on a dying horse, he thought. Coming here, to you. Arya. He turned back to the red priestess. Jon could feel her warmth. She has power. The thought came unbidden, seizing him with iron teeth, but this was not a woman he cared to be indebted to, not even for his little sister. "Dalla told me something once. Val's sister, Mance Rayder's wife. She said that sorcery was a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it." "A wise woman." Melisandre rose, her red robes stirring in the wind. "A sword without a hilt is still a sword, though, and a sword is a fine thing to have when foes are all about. Hear me now, Jon Snow. Nine crows flew into the white wood to find your foes for you. Three of them are dead. They have not died yet, but their death is out there waiting for them, and they ride to meet it. You sent them forth to be your eyes in the darkness, but they will be eyeless when they return to you. I have seen their pale dead faces in my flames. Empty sockets, weeping blood." She pushed her red hair back, and her red eyes shone. "You do not believe me. You will. The cost of that belief will be three lives. A small price to pay for wisdom, some might say … but not one you had to pay. Remember that when you behold the blind and ravaged faces of your dead. And come that day, take my hand." The mist rose from her pale flesh, and for a moment it seemed as if pale, sorcerous flames were playing about her fingers. "Take my hand," she said again, "and let me save your sister." (ADWD, Jon VI)

The vision keeps coming up and dictates some of Jon's decisions. Jeyne Poole (Sansa's friend) was forced to marry Ramsay in the guise of being Arya, she escapes, and people expect her to reunite with Jon and be the girl in grey (escaping a marriage, she was pretending to be his sister). Others point to Alys Karstark who runs to Jon to escape a marriage. The problem is, Mel doesn't know who it is, she only knows sister. People pick Jeyne because of the Arya connection, but neither she nor Alys are Jon's sister. And Jon has another sister, Sansa.

I would argue the reason that the girl in grey is Sansa (ie Sansa will flee North to escape LF's plots and reunite with Jon before Winterfell is taken/she is in a position of power), is if you read Jon's passage about the girl in grey, Jon being dead is written all over it. His white breath, the reference to him as a stranger, Jon telling himself he isn't a wolf...you see, here is the major spoiler...

Jon is assassinated at the end of TWOW.

Now, he may not actually be dead-dead, some of us have said he might be in a coma like Bran, but a) we believe he warged into Ghost (I am not a wolf--he will need to come back to himself, not lose himself in Ghost), b) the stranger = Jon is dead, c) the white breath = his body being cold cuz he's dead etc. The other side of this is, the way Jon sees Mel and remembers a different redhead can be viewed as foreshadowing for recently undead Jon seeing a redhead and mistaking her for Ygritte. The description of Mel's words like a song made people think of Sansa (it's been speculated Sansa's singing will help Jon remember things post rez/help him return to himself), and Ghost's strangely positive reaction to Mel may foreshadow how he reacts to Sansa as a familiar person. So, when I read that passage, it sounded to me like Sansa and Jon will be reuniting shortly after his rez, or even perhaps before his rez, so yes, I imagine that happens at the Wall.

Way back in 2013, a famous Jonsa essay predicted that Jon and Sansa would be reunited first of all the Starks, and then in 2016 that happened on the show which spurred a lot more discussion in the Jonsa fandom about Sansa being the girl in grey in the books as well.

I'll link some additional posts with various thoughts on how it might go.

Jon as the Stranger, Sansa as a silent sister. Pertinent quotes:

Then one morning she spied three women in the cowled grey robes of the silent sisters loading a corpse into their wagon. (ACOK, Arya VII) The women in grey bowed their heads. The silent sisters do not speak to the living, Catelyn remembered dully, but some say they can talk to the dead. (ACOK, Catelyn V) Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. (AFFC, Brienne VIII) When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss." (AFFC, Cersei IV)

@loveroflemons wrote a post in 2017 talking about Mel's prophecy and the map of the North to explain why Sansa is the Girl in Grey here. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir has a post explaining that Sansa is Ned's narrative heir and her path North will follow his here, and some general ideas for her TWOW story here.

@istumpysk talks about The Girl in Grey foreshadowing here. @aegor-bamfsteel tried to give us a time table here, @redteabaron has talked about the possibility that Sansa will be hunted by Ramsay for some Red Riding Hood parallels here, That and Sansa meeting Ghost while Jon is still out of it is discussed here as well. And this post talks about Jon saving Sansa from Ramsay while warged into Ghost using some king’s prize/thief quotes. I also found a Tolkien poem (Martin is a massive fan) that has Girl in Grey vibes here (not proof, just fun).

Anyway, it's a very popular Jonsa theory, for many of us, a given at this point. For a different ask i scrolled some BNF blogs and they mocked it a lot, called us delusional because they can point to the other girls as fulfilling the prophecy, but to me, that prophecy takes up too much space for it to disappear without a real payoff. It makes sense to me that Martin would use that vision to prep us for Sansa arriving in the North.

Let me know what you think after you read ADWD!

#soon i'll post links for book verse girl in grey fics anon #not meta but jonsa fics have a funny habit of predicting things to come!#jonsa #dot chat #the girl in grey

92 notes · View notes